


Life After (Let Go)

by BitSweetChoc



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Alternate Universe, Angst, F/F, F/M, One Shot, One-Sided Mikasa Ackerman/Jean Kirstein, Post-War, violet evergarden crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:22:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24771571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BitSweetChoc/pseuds/BitSweetChoc
Summary: After the war, Mikasa finds herself writing letters that bring people together, just to make up for all the lives she took by her own hands, and those she feels responsible for. She sees herself in the faces of strangers-but the stark difference was when moving on was brought up.Annie has burns all over her, so similar and yet so different from Mikasa, but they mirror each other so well, it hits sensitive nerves.Or Mikasa's life and feelings after the war and how they try to live their lives after peace.
Relationships: Mikasa Ackerman & Armin Arlert, Mikasa Ackerman & Eren Yeager, Mikasa Ackerman/Annie Leonhart, Mikasa Ackerman/Eren Yeager, Mikasa Ackerman/Jean Kirstein
Comments: 11
Kudos: 66





	Life After (Let Go)

Life After

If Mikasa was doing things wrong, she didn’t notice it.

She didn’t know that she had burnt marks all over her body, embedded in her skin, yet at the same time, unforeseen by the naked eye. It’s preposterous to think so; after all, at the near end of the war between the nations of Marley and Paradis, she had settled down into a small town, in the neighboring country of Hizuru and made a name for herself as a ghostwriter. Mikasa stayed in the Azumabito clan’s household, working under Kiyomi-a distant relative-who owned a small company that wrote letters for people who were unable to write.

She stared outside the window from the second floor, in a small room provided for her as she requested it to be, for she did not need the luxurious items of the Azumabito Estate-it was not hers to claim and she preferred working for herself than having all these things appear from nothing.

In the course of time, she did not let her raven hair grow, for her locks would stick to her cheeks in the warm weather, and flow wildly in the breeze when winter came. She sees the ocean, glittering blue, deep and breathtaking. Her eyes softened, recalling how at some point, it was once filled with her fellow soldiers’ blood and that made the sight before her turn murky and dark.

If Mikasa was doing things wrong, what were they?

_‘Mikasa, did you go through this too?’_

She recalled those words from her dear friend, Armin. He stayed back at the island of Paradis, writing letters to her about how they’ve progressively recovered from the impact of the fight that had taken everything from them. Mikasa reminisced the first time Armin had accidentally killed a fellow Eldian, in order to save a comrade. It filled her with dread to see him double over, trying to get it out of his system repeatedly.

_‘Sorry…Forget it.’_

“No.” She pursed her lips, eyes fluttering shut as she drew a sharp breath. No, Mikasa did not go through that. She didn’t hesitate, from the very first moment she had held a knife and took her first life. She wasn’t sad nor was she angry, she felt nothing.

It was because of _that,_ that she had taken it upon herself to try and find her own redemption. She may never be able to take the blood off her hands, but if anything, she could turn those bloody hands into ones that can help bring people together.

Mikasa was deemed to be exceedingly good at everything she did, whether they be for the sake of killing people as a war machine, or to just simply being on time to work. But she knew her own flaw, and that was writing letters to people she had never met.

The first time she tried to write a letter, the client came back the next day. There were heated words on his tongue, his eyebrows furrowed deeply and eyes aflame with a burning hatred. He slammed the paper back on her desk, but even then, Mikasa only stared at him blankly.

 _“What is this?”_ He cried out.

Mikasa wanted to ask what was what, but she decided against it. It was then that she found out just how hard it was to convey emotions she herself, had tried to suppress for so long. He described her work as some sort of military report devoid of happiness and love and that made Mikasa’s face scrunch up in confusion.

“Did the letter need it?”

She didn’t mean to speak out so pointedly, but the man’s face only flushed with anger or maybe it was embarrassment, Mikasa couldn’t tell. He had spoken to Kiyomi afterwards, shooting her dirty looks while he did so. It’s not as if Mikasa was bothered by it, because she could take him on for all she cared.

But she didn’t.

That evening, Kiyomi had entered her room and gently asked her what she did wrong. Mikasa shook her head, steely, grey eyes filled with genuineness as she answered, “I didn’t do anything wrong.” There was a flash of surprise that came across the other woman’s face and she blinked, eyes turning glassy.

“Mikasa,” Her voice was quiet, hoarse and choked up. Mikasa did not understand what exactly Kiyomi saw, when she asked, “Are you happy?”

Is she happy? Stupid question. Had she ever been happy? Mikasa paused, her fingers playing with the cuffs of her sleeves. Armin wasn’t here, her friends were few and Eren, her brother, was long gone. She thought of the times that they had dinner in the trainee barracks, or how they’ve visited the enemy country in the guise of tourists back then. She tried to recall messy, brown strands of windswept hair, green eyes, desperate and lonely.

_‘Mikasa, live from now on. You are free.’_

It was barely conveyed by a bloodstained mouth. Mikasa remembered desperately hauling him on her back as she tried to walk away from the battlegrounds, only to have been separated by a bomb as he pushed her away. He repeated those lines again-those frustrating lines that Mikasa was sure she was already doing back then.

She woke up in a hospital bed back in Liberio two weeks after.

Unconsciously, her hand reached up to try and bury her face in a blood red scarf, only to find it off her neck. She didn’t know when was the last time she felt secure. Mikasa knew that her next words would leave Kiyomi disappointed. But for once in her life, she wanted to be honest.

She shook her head and grimaced.

“I don’t understand.”

The next time she wrote a letter, it was for a woman, awaiting her son’s return from the army. Mikasa was skeptical of that. The war ended half a year ago, there shouldn’t be anyone to wait for anymore. But she kept her mouth shut this time.

The woman was in her fifties, with greying hair and wrinkles decorating her facial features. Her eyes were sunken with worry lines and Mikasa wondered just how long this person had been waiting.

“It’s for my son, Jean Kirchstein.”

It wasn’t unusual for Eldians to move out of Paradis after the war. But that name made Mikasa pause, hands just an inch above the typewriter. Her eyes widened involuntarily and she looked up quickly, to find a wistful look on Mrs. Kirchstein’s face.

“I heard he had become a great leader in the army.” Her voice dripped with pride but it only made Mikasa feel suffocated. She felt the tremors start in her fingers first. It was a trembling that was thunderous as it shot out through her body.

Mikasa never minded being the bearer of bad news. But for some reason, this is something she did not have the heart to break. However, that was no option as Mikasa had always put everything first before what she felt.

That is a soldier.

That is how she had lived.

_“Mikasa, look out!”_

_Mikasa had whirled around a second too late and she only caught a glimpse of the soldiers holding guns aimed at her before her view was obscured by a green coat. She blinked, mouth agape before she realized what had happened when the blood had seeped through the front of Jean’s usually clean polo. He looked at her in relief, coughing out the same red._

She saw how the light left his mother’s eyes slowly. Mikasa felt the sting first-of how the woman had pushed herself up, the wooden chair falling to the floor. She screamed in anguish and cried out, clawing at her throat.

Mikasa would never forget how Jean Kirchstein had pushed her out of the barreling bullets’ way, or how he had cupped her cheeks as she held him, repeatedly telling him not to die. Mikasa did not want that burden-but more so, she did not want someone she had already considered a friend, to die by her hands.

Mikasa crouched down and rubbed circles to the woman’s back until she calmed down. But maybe in the innermost part of her, she knew that this is a wound that would be reopened over the years. She had no right to comfort this person, when it was her fault that he had died. But just like everything else, she tried.

Mikasa really tried.

“You said your name was Mikasa?” Mrs. Kirchstein had gone through with the letter after a week. Mikasa didn’t really think she’d come back. She was even expecting to get hit. She did not expect the woman to hold her hands in hers as Mikasa gave her a nod.

Maybe the woman was still looking for a connection with his son; but Mikasa wanted to tell her that she was looking in the wrong place.

“Jeanboy told me he loved a girl with that name.”

Perhaps Mikasa will never fully understand the implications of such an intimate word.

_“Oh.”_

And perhaps or most certainly, Jean deserves more than that one word.

Mikasa surmised that it was the first time she was actually aware of her heart breaking.

The next time Mikasa came in to work, it was after she had visited the graves of people that had left the world too early. It was supposed to be her. She should have died in their places. She thought tears would come as she laid her head down to the ground as she profusely apologized to them individually, but nothing came.

It was then that Mikasa suspected herself to be a monster.

_“Do they never cross your mind?”_

They do.

That day, a little boy came in, golden eyes shining so brightly, it reminded Mikasa of the first time she had spent time with Eren and his family. The boy had a big grin that mirrored her special someone, hands balled into tight fists and a redness that crept towards his cheeks.

“To whom should I address this to?”

It had been quite some time and Mikasa found herself slowly integrating into her work. Those angry comments she kept receiving had turned to those of praises. But Mikasa still could not understand why Kiyomi had looked at her as if she was still lost.

Falco, the boy’s name, fidgeted under her questioning gaze. Nervously, he fiddled with the hem of his worn out coat, lips stuttering out incoherent words. “I-I want to address it to a girl.”

_“Mikasa, I am not your little brother!”_

Mikasa’s ears strained to hear an impish voice in her head. Her forehead throbbed with a familiar pain of when they first went to war and how she had clung to him like a koala and its tree; he had slammed his forehead against hers and screamed at her.

_“I’m not going to die!”_

Mikasa had given up on life back then. But she refused to do so, if only for Eren’s face to be burnt in the back of her mind. She wouldn’t be able to remember him if she died. There was a pang in her heart at that-because Eren was gone and he wouldn’t remember her even if he was reborn.

Fate must love playing with her.

“This girl…She’s important to you?”

Her voice sounded foreign. It was strangled and sorrowful, something that Mikasa had expertly known from a very young age. Something she had known, with every letter she wrote that ranged from people waiting for their children to come home, or parents dying and telling their loved ones whatever it is they wanted conveyed.

Falco’s smile wavered for a bit and Mikasa must have caused it. He nodded mutely, mind in deep thought. “She is. And I’m sure you have someone like that too.”

Mikasa did not. Not anymore.

Falco was only nine when he delivered a letter of happiness that Mikasa wanted to share in.

In the span of her job, traveling from nation to nation, continent to continent, Mikasa was still rough in all edges. She learned to partake in the emotions of other people, but there was something amiss. She still could not make the connection with her own feelings. Above all, it feels like she still wasn’t able to redeem herself or pay for her sins.

Mikasa thinks that this was the punishment-Living.

She had to live under the weight of her sins, of the lives she had taken away. As a ghostwriter, she found people who kept promises to each other. She delivered letters because they deserve to reach the persons they are addressed to, because they held those same promises that can’t be kept unless they reach.

It was when Mikasa had forcefully travelled to the frontlines of a civil war that broke out at the coast of Marley, that she realized the actual cost of the blood on her hands. A soldier had requested a ghostwriter that Kiyomi was supposedly going to decline. But Mikasa knows all too well about broken promises and having no one to save them. So without permission, she had set off to find a Sasha Braus.

Mikasa just did not think that it would hit her like a searing arrow to the heart, when she had gotten off the plane only to find the client lying on the bloody ground evident of explosion, with a gunshot wound near her heart. It was winter and they were at risk of hypothermia. She gritted her teeth and carried the girl about her age, to a nearby, abandoned cabin, leaving a pile of dead soldiers behind.

Mikasa knew by then that it was too late, but she didn’t want to give up. She had given up so much already, and she didn’t want to anymore. She shouldn’t, anymore because there is nothing left to lose.

So why did she so desperately tried to save this dying girl? Why did she feel like she would lose everything again?

Sasha had opened her eyes by nightfall, with skin pale as a ghost and lips dry and white. Her body was weathered badly, shivering from the harsh winter. Mikasa covered her with all the blankets she had and founded, then hugged her desperately as Sasha whispered weakly in her ear.

“Please send this to my father.”

The fireplace crackled and dimly lit the cabin as Mikasa raised her trembling hands in an attempt to memorize the next few words. But Sasha’s eyes were unfocused. Her breaths were getting shorter and uneven.

Things like this shouldn’t have affected Mikasa the way it did. She should be used to these scenes. Sasha gazed at the ceiling, mouth opened wide, eyes slowly closing. “Sasha? Work with me now, stay awake.” Mikasa said softly.

“Please hang in there. We’ll be saved in the morning.”

Sasha let out a weak chuckle at that and once again turned to her, body shuffling to face her. Mikasa laid her shaky hands atop the soldier’s. In the corner of her eyes, she found a photo slip from under the blanket but Mikasa had no time to check who was in it.

The next words never really came out the way Mikasa expected, but it didn’t change the way Mikasa felt so helpless and useless.

It reminded her far too much of how exceedingly good she was supposed to be, of how people had always expected her to live and how she had taken Eren in her arms at the stairway in Utgard Castle, the tears spilling from the corner of her eyes at Eren’s grin.

_“Mikasa, live from now on. You are free.”_

_No._ If living meant without him, then that wasn’t living at all. She had lost her family twice, why did she have to lose even more? What exactly did she do to deserve this?

“I’m coming home.”

Those were the only words Sasha had mouthed before she stopped moving. Mikasa resented fate, resented Eren and resented herself. Everything she wanted to protect always seemed to be taken away from her, no matter how hard she tried to keep them together.

Mr. Braus’s howls were too much for Mikasa to bear. But what made her heart burst with more emotions she did not understand-with things she thought she had locked up, was when he looked at her through reddened eyes and stuttered, “ _Thank you for bringing her home.”_

 _There was nothing to be thankful for_ , Mikasa wanted to scream. A stranger had embraced her and expressed his gratefulness to her but Mikasa didn’t want it. She didn’t _deserve_ it. She was absolutely livid at herself.

Mikasa had failed to protect her.

Mikasa had failed to protect everyone that had exchanged their lives for her.

If they had thanked her, she must have been doing something right-

But Mikasa felt like she was doing everything wrong.

Mikasa believed that was the coldest winter she had ever experienced.

She already had loose ends left unsown within her, but she felt like she was tearing at the seams with the cross she had to bear. Mikasa had burnt marks on her skin, embedded in the innermost parts of her, and she was on fire. But what’s worse than that is that she wasn’t dying even though the flames had enveloped her whole.

She was living, she was free to go wherever she wanted-

So why does it feel like she wasn’t doing what Eren told her to?

_“Ackerman? So you’re a slave?”_

She was not.

_“Just a little girl experimented on, following orders all her life. Poor girl.”_

She was _not._

_“You’re just living because he told you, didn’t he? If he didn’t, you’d probably be dead by now.”_

She-

She wasn’t. Was she?

It was over a year or two, when Mikasa was requested by an aristocratic family, to teach their daughter how to be just that. But Mikasa was a soldier and ghostwriter, in what world did they think that she would be able to teach a family of royal blood when she was an orphan raised in the streets?

But she couldn’t decline in risk of getting threats.

So then, she meets a very petite blonde, that could have passed off as Armin’s twin. The friend whose letters have piled up in her room, unanswered and unread.

“Are you Mikasa?”

Her voice was quiet, shy and afraid. Historia Reiss was nothing of the royalty Mikasa had met before. Mikasa nodded, exhausted. “Yes. I am.” She did not forget the way those blue eyes lit up with curiosity. Excitedly, she reached out to clasp Mikasa’s hands in hers and the girl had never felt such a warm touch before.

“I hope we become friends.”

Historia lived in an all-girls’s school. It wasn’t the first time that Mikasa felt out-of-place before, as she walked through the hallways made of marble, with everyone glancing at her in amazement. Everyone must have known each other, as they approached Historia without much of a shy step.

“She’s a friend!” Historia chirped, but shot her a nervous glance as she did so.

At that, Mikasa felt her heart tighten up. _No._ She didn’t want to become friends. Everyone who involved themselves with her always ended up losing something valuable, if not their lives. But she stayed mute, always observing her surroundings unlike the way she did the first time she was offered this job. For as much as Mikasa denied the yearning in her heart, for as much as she had become dishonest, she very well knew that she wanted a friend too.

So she learned quite early on, that Historia was not someone who listens. She insisted on bathing with Mikasa, driving herself in her personal space, insisted on skipping classes just for the hell of it and a month into this endeavor, Mikasa had learned more of Historia than the latter about her. Historia was not raised in the Reiss family; instead, she was raised in a village hit closely by the war. She was left abandoned in the cold, if not for someone who had saved her back then.

She was saved, just like Mikasa.

Mikasa learned that Historia had loved that someone so much that she had to leave that person behind. “What?” For the first time in her life, Mikasa looked at someone else’s idea so incredulously ridiculous. Historia laughed at her reaction.

“You know, Mikasa, this is the first time you looked so disbelieving.”

“But why would you leave someone who you love?”

Mikasa formulated all the arguments she had in her head, if only to shoot Historia’s reasons down. No one deserved to be left behind. Leaving someone because you loved them makes no sense. She remembered being on the other side of the spectrum back then, when Eren had left her side that time Marley had refused to sign a peace treaty with Paradis.

She recalled how bittersweet it was, that she searched for him and how he never wanted to be found by her. The next thing she knew, he was waging a war on the frontlines, only to call on her and depend on her. Why was the world so cruel to have her meet him on the battlefield-so briefly-only to be permanently separated from him afterwards?

Mikasa understood how it felt like, to be left behind.

“If I didn’t…” Historia faltered, staring at her braided, blond hair. “My family would have taken her future away. Both of us wouldn’t have grown into the people we are today. I would have been as selfish as I’ve always been. At least, I’m sure she found a way to live on without me.”

She was close to crying, Mikasa could tell.

It dawned on the woman that the one left behind was not the only person to feel the pain. The person who left also had the brunt of it. Somehow, for a short moment, the burden she had been carrying grew in size.

Was it harder to be the one leaving than the one staying behind?

“Do you think she hates me for it?”

Mikasa pondered on that. Whatever Eren had done before, weighed less now. She shook her head slowly, feeling like she had just found a puzzle piece in a search she didn’t even bother noticing until now.

“Historia, I didn’t think you were of royal blood before.”

Historia seemed unsurprised by the comment. Mikasa thought back to the people she had written letters to and how they’ve always been signed with an _“I love you.”_ Words that Mikasa did not understand, but had been told often.

_“Mikasa, I love you so much.”_

The first time she heard this, was when her mother protected her from the human traffickers that came to take them away. The second time she heard this, was when Eren was bleeding from his side as they struggled to walk down the staircase and he had pushed her off before everything around had exploded. The third time, was when Armin sent her his first letter.

_“Mikasa, you always have a place to come back to. You still have people who love you.”_

She swallowed a pent-up cry in her throat as she stared at Historia, so vulnerable that it was demeaning for an Ackerman like her. “I think you are more royal-more noble-than anyone else that have royal blood in them.”

Mikasa was used to having her firsts taken away. Her first family, her first friend, her first kind of life. But she didn’t know how exhilarating and beautiful it was to have seen Historia smile for real, genuine and unnerving, since the first time they’ve met.

If Mikasa had been doing things wrong, this was the first time she must have done something right. If Mikasa was exceedingly good at everything, then she should at least use it for all she can.

“Do you want to write a letter to her?”

It was three years after, when Historia had been married off to a count in the countryside. Mikasa was twenty-four when a brunette, tall and intimidating, barged in the Azumabito ghostwriter’s headquarters. Ymir had been scrawny, wearing an oversized, dirty shirt over her bony frame.

“Are you Mikasa Ackerman?”

Mikasa had not bothered helping people before. Even during the war, she only had her eyes on Eren, uncaring if her comrades were about to die. It was ironic, how she was now trying to do the exact opposite.

But it gave her more pain than pleasure, in helping people. She told a mother that her son was dead, to get some closure. She gave a letter to a soldier’s parent, waiting for her to come home, only for it to never be kept. She wrote a letter for an aristocrat who had accepted her fate that she was never meant to be with her lover.

Now she had to bear the familiar sight of someone losing the light in their eyes again, as Ymir heard the news. Now she had to feel it _again,_ how useless she was in comforting people. If Eren could see the way those people cried-if he had lived on to know that Mikasa had died or had been married off without a choice-

Would he be in the same state?

Was this Mikasa’s punishment?

All she had ever wanted was to bring people together. All she wanted to do was to make up for the lives she took by her own hands and yet, it seemed to just bite her back. All she did, was separate those that wanted nothing but to be together.

_“You were never meant to be human.”_

Zeke Yeager had looked at her with pity. He hated her for being unable to save Eren, but Mikasa could do only so much. She was a monster, but even monsters could feel pain.

“Do you think I should write her a letter?”

If Mikasa didn’t notice it before, now she did. There was a hopeful glint in Ymir’s eyes, a hope that Mikasa didn’t know what was for. But she had seen it before. She had seen it on the face of a woman who had lost her son but came back to still write him the letter. She had heard it in the words of a father who thanked her for bringing his daughter home. She had written it for a boy that wished his feelings were returned.

All this time, she had experienced it with people who had also lost things.

Mikasa didn’t even need a heartbeat before she cracked a smile, “Of course.”

Then there it was again-that intimate word that Mikasa feels like she had understood albeit a little bit.

“ _Historia, I never stopped loving you.”_

Mikasa found herself standing in the graveyard where she had placed more flowers on her comrades’ tombstones. Even after all those years, Mikasa bowed her head down to the ground and asked for forgiveness.

“I’m sorry.”

_“It should have been you.”_

“I’m sorry.”

_“You couldn’t protect him. He exchanged his life for someone nothing but a tool.”_

“I’m sorry.”

It was then that Mikasa hiccupped; her face damped with tears and an unexpressed sorrow finally spilling out of her lips. Life was unfair, making those that live want to die, and those that died having no more chances to live.

“Mikasa, do you have a dream?”

She stopped momentarily, gazing at the man that laid in bed. He was a former military official of Marley. His cheeks had sunken, arms frail and thin as if he hadn’t been eating. He was looking out the window and Mikasa turned to see what sight he beheld. There were a few teens, chasing each other around the lake, while the sun dipped behind the banner of trees.

“Why do you ask?” Mikasa pursed her lips wearily.

He raised a shaky hand and pointed at those teens. They were Eldians, he mentioned earlier on. Eldians that had been captured and were slaved in Marley.

“I wanted them to live normal lives. They were-They were only nine or ten when the war happened. I was in charge of training them.” His eyes hardened with what Mikasa had guessed to be regret. “They may never forget how it was like, but for all it’s worth, I want them to know that it was them that changed my whole perspective on this war.”

Mikasa waited. She waited for the orders on what to write, on the emotions to convey. It wasn’t her job to intertwine herself in other’s ideals nor their personal lives. But Theo Magath turned to her, eyes softening and filled with an empathy that perturbed her.

“It must have changed something in you too. The woman worth a hundred soldiers.”

Mikasa was like a little girl again, under that scrutinizing gaze. She averted her eyes from him. “That’s not me.” She forced herself to say, teeth gritted and heart pounding loudly and rapidly against her ribcage.

He shook his head in disapproval.

“Things you’ve done cannot be undone.”

Mikasa’s fingers twitched under the comfort of her gloves. Gloves that hid her hands from her eyes, so she wouldn’t see the bloodstains that weren’t there. Everywhere she went, there was always something so insistent to remind her of who she was and what she had done.

“But just like them, you can live just as happy.”

Mikasa wanted to tell him that he was wrong, that she didn’t deserve happiness and she didn’t even know what it meant. She wanted to tell him that her dreams can never come true, because life has taken them away just like how she took them away from other people. He was wrong because she had no family and no one would miss her, but those countless of lives lost at her hand _did._

“Mikasa, you may not be able to erase the past, but you can still build a future ahead of you.”

Mikasa can.

But she didn’t deserve it.

Mikasa was twenty-five when she confessed why she was still living for the first time; to a girl about her age, with cerulean eyes that spoke of an understanding Mikasa herself could not comprehend. She had strands of blond hair pulled up in a messy bun, chin held high that made her look intimidating, all while being short in stature. It bothered Mikasa, how this person seems to have just taken one look at her and feel as if she already understood where she came from.

Mikasa caught her in the streets of Liberio, when the stranger had just stolen a bread from a food stand. They had a minor fistfight and it had been so long that the stranger had almost beaten Mikasa. The latter had concluded that this person must have been doing this longer. But just like when she was in the army, Mikasa still had that terrifying endurance that miraculously won her in the end.

She refused to go down, so for peace’s sake, Mikasa had apologized in her stead and paid for the stolen food. Instead of taking her to the military office or the prison, Mikasa took her to the post office. Mikasa ignored the way Kiyomi had squinted at them limping up towards the rooms,

“Where did you learn to fight?” Mikasa asked quietly, exhaustion sipping out of her voice. Her nose was broken and she was sure that her body will not only ache, but had nebulas all over it when she wakes the next morning. They stumbled in her humble room, Mikasa crashing on the bed with a grunt.

The blonde scowled at her, unlike Historia’s shyness and unlike Armin’s smile. This person was terrible at emotions. “My father was ex-military.” She answered after a few minutes of catching her breath. Her hoodie was ripped, the old white turning into dirty, worn out grey. Blood decorated the cuffs, while holes dotted her sleeves.

“Oh.”

Mikasa propped herself on her elbows, wincing at the impact that strained her body. The blonde watched her closely, a smug smirk on her face. This time, Mikasa was the one to scowl. She raised the sleeves of her green coat that was much like her army jacket, the wings of freedom long replaced by the Azumabito clan’s symbol. She studied the black and blue on her skin like tattoos, mildly impressed. 

“How long have you been doing this?”

“Probably as long as you.”

There was nothing ideal about any of what happened. Mikasa hated the understanding in Annie’s eyes. She abhorred the way it darkened, as if she knew something. But Mikasa couldn’t help but ask the name of the person who was able to strike her and pushed her to the edge of barely standing.

“Annie.”

Mikasa woke up the next day, half-expecting Annie to have stolen her things, but her vision cleared up only to find the blonde sitting by the window, blonde strands flowing with the small breeze from the coast. She was freshly showered, dirty clothes replaced by, if Mikasa thought right, was her very own shirt and a pair of sweats.

She scoffed, technically right about Annie stealing her things.

“Stuff it. These are comfy.”

“I suppose; you’ll be stealing more of what’s mine from now on?”

Annie had the audacity to grin, her blue eyes shining underneath the orange glow of the sunrise. Mikasa noticed the bruises on her collarbone, scarily obvious because of the porcelain skin.

“Not if you give me a job.”

“You’re not kidding.”

“No fucking shit, Ackerman.”

Just like the day that Eren saved her from the bloody cabin, Mikasa tried to save Annie from the streets. Kiyomi had agreed fairly quick, but Mikasa was sure that she would conduct a background check without their prior knowledge. Then again, it wasn’t only Annie’s movements that were sharp.

Not even three days as a mail carrier, Annie had gotten on Mikasa’s nerves. The woman was sitting quietly on her desk, helping out an elderly, when Annie strode in without a care in the world. Mikasa knew that she was being observed, but she didn’t expect how irritated she was when Annie decided to speak after her client left.

“You’re selfish.”

“ _What?”_

Her eyebrow twitched and everyone’s chatter seemed to die down and that’s when Mikasa realized she had spoken loudly. Annie was unfazed, arms crossed over a brand new, black hoodie that clearly had the Azumabito carved on the upper, left chest. She wasn’t even in a uniform. Their stares were leveled, but Annie’s eyes lingered more on Mikasa’s gloved hands, balled into fists.

“I’m helping out all these people and you still call that selfish?” She controlled her temper this time-voice barely above a whisper. It wasn’t even a heartbeat when Annie shrugged and turned on her heel.

“Depends. Why exactly are you helping them? Motives always count, _Mikasa.”_

The protests failed to leave Mikasa’s mouth as the blonde sauntered out of the room as if she did nothing. That night, Mikasa found herself on the doorstep across from her, where she shoved Annie inside, hands fisting on another oversized shirt. The blonde didn’t even flinch and instead, she glared at the taller woman, neck craned up.

“You don’t have the right to say that.”

Annie snorted, hands reaching up to wrap around Mikasa’s arms loosely. “You say that,” She drawled, as if she enjoyed how fiery Mikasa’s stare was, trying to burn through her. “But I know exactly what I see.”

“So you’re a fortune teller now? A thief and now trying to be a truth seer?” Mikasa glowered.

“Watch your mouth, Ackerman.” Mikasa felt her grip tighten and she was sure to bruise afterwards. Annie sneered, those steely blue growing colder by the minute. “We’re more similar than you think.”

Those words made Mikasa pause, nose flared. She wanted to deny those baseless accusations because they knew _nothing_ about each other. But in the back of her mind, she could tell that it was somewhat true. If Annie had stolen food, clothes and shelter, then Mikasa had it much worst. She stole lives, love and happiness.

“I’m nothing like you.”

In the darkness, Annie’s eyes glowed like blue fire. Mikasa stepped away, afraid to break the bubble they were in. But Annie had been just as brave as she was on the first day and had courageously popped it.

“You’re right.”

Not wanting to hear more, Mikasa pivoted, hand on the knob, Annie’s chaste last words haunting her throughout the night.

“Unlike you, I don’t intend on staying lost.”

No one would have known how _hard_ Mikasa had tried over the years. All she had been doing since her recovery, was help people. She had written countless letters that were meant to deliver happiness. No one had the right to judge her face first.

Mikasa thought she had grown out of the nightmares that kept her paralyzed in bed. She thought she had already moved on from the cackles of her parents’ killers, or Eren’s determination that he wouldn’t die. In her dreams, Mikasa stood in the middle of rubble, a pool of blood enveloping her feet.

There was nowhere to run and Mikasa was forced to watch the battle unfold in front of her. She saw her younger self, slashing against soldiers, their blood staining her all over. She saw Armin unconscious on the side, the red dampening his sight. Eren was charging recklessly against the enemy, Mikasa following his lead. Eren let out a bloodcurdling scream as he threw himself to their legion, in disarray.

She saw herself cradling Jean’s body, after she had shot the soldiers back.

If only.

Mikasa was strong. Very strong.

Stronger than any of them.

_If only-_

Subconsciously, she tried to step out of the thick blood when the dream shifted to show herself carrying Eren out of the castle, her eyes stinging with tears. Eren had saved her. She had to save him. _She had to._ He was her family.

She can’t lose him.

He was too important to die-He can’t-

_She could have-_

_It was possible-_

_If only-_

_“Unlike you I don’t intend on staying lost.”_

Mikasa was lost.

In all those passing years, how was it simply _possible_ for her to be lost?

She woke up screaming the next day.

Mikasa made sure to avoid Annie over the next few weeks, which wasn’t hard. Contrary to the rumors that went around how she was bad news as even the military wanted her, Annie had done her job excellently-more than the older veterans. It must have frustrated them just as much as it did Mikasa.

“My father was killed by Marleyans.”

Now, the blonde had cornered her in corner of the boarding rooms, amusement in her features. “You can’t avoid me, Ackerman. Just how you can’t avoid the truth.” Frighteningly, Annie continued without so much a flinch.

“I killed those Marleyans.”

Mikasa was always the predator, not the prey. But in that fleeting moment, of Annie staring her down, having her backed up to the wall, Mikasa was seeing her reflection in the mirror.

“Do you believe in God?”

No answer.

“He forgives a thief. He forgives a murderer. What makes those sins different? Did they weigh differently? But you forgive them just the same.” Mikasa opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She didn’t know what to say. Annie reached out to grab her by the collar, forcefully pulling her forward.

“You murdered people. I did too. No one counts them. It only takes _one_ life to be called a murderer.”

“Then why do you live as if you aren’t?” Mikasa couldn’t help but blurt out. “Why can you still live on?” She pushed herself away, fingers gripping on Annie’s sleeves. She was in one of her stolen hoodies again. Annie frowned, a sigh on her tongue.

“We have burnt marks all over us, Mikasa. We can’t erase the scars. But that means that we can’t erase the good things we’re doing now.”

“You call thieving good?”

A hiccup escaped Mikasa’s lips and only then did she become more aware of the dampness on her face. Annie rolled her eyes. “ _The point is,_ stop feeling sorry for yourself. You think you’re the only one lost after the war? How selfish.”

Annie growled like a ferocious beast. Mikasa bit her lower lip, head down in shame. “Get a grip, Ackerman. You got customers before and I’m certain every one of them had been affected by the war. You’re just the only one trying to stay that way.”

_“Fight.”_

Her heart pounded in her chest.

_“If you don’t fight, you can’t win.”_

The blood screamed in Mikasa’s ears.

Mikasa was twenty-five when she confessed why she was still living for the first time; to a girl about her age, with cerulean eyes that spoke of an understanding Mikasa finally gets. Her knees buckled and for the first time, she felt _human._

_And she had always been human._

Annie had taken her to her room as she bawled her eyes out, voice gurgled as the years of pain overwhelmed her. She shook uncontrollably, hands flailing around to try and grip something until Annie gave her hands to hold.

“Let go.”

_Eren._

She stood behind him, the shallow waters brushing against their bare feet. His hair danced with the wind as she reached out for him.

_“Let go.”_

Eren pointed to the horizon, eyes dazed and lips opened slightly. Armin approached them, but the two weren’t reaching her. “Mikasa, let go.” She ignored the voice and she struggled against the waters that held her down. The waves in the distance roared and Mikasa was afraid that it would swallow them if they don’t get out of there.

_Eren!_

_“Mikasa, let him go.”_

She didn’t want to. He’s not someone to let go of. Armin shouted behind her, saying the same thing. _“Let go.”_

“Why do I have to?” She spoke in an audible voice.

Mikasa had invested a considerable amount of time with him. No one will continue his legacy if she lets him go. _She has to remember him._ She loved him. _She loved him._ Mikasa ruminated on what she could have done differently, the arguments they had, and the things she regretted not saying.

_“Eren, I don’t understand. Love?”_

_“Mikasa, you have to live. You are free.”_

_“Mikasa, you still have a home to come back to. There are still people who love you.”_

_“Jeanboy said he loved a girl with that name very much.”_

“Because you’re robbing yourself.”

She thought back on how Historia had left Ymir. She reminisced how Ymir had a newfound hope. She thought back on Falco and Sasha’s father. She looked back on the words Theo Magath had given her.

_“But just like them, you can live just as happy.”_

It was a midsummer evening, when Mikasa caught no more glimpses of Eren as the ocean swallowed his silhouette whole. Mitkasa was twenty-five when the pain stopped trying to drown her and for the first time, she finally saw the surface.

Six years after the war had passed, Mikasa did not see Eren or the fragments of her broken pieces in the faces of strangers. Through her tears, she saw only Annie. Her nose a bit hooked, cocky smirk wiped into a concerned frown, and an unexplored galaxy in the depth of those ocean eyes, clear and _blue._ Not bloody and red.

“Okay?”

Her voice sounded clear and unyielding. Not irritating and annoying.

“Okay.”

Mikasa was rough around all edges while Annie was a smooth circle. One knew what she had to do but refused to do so, while the other glided over life and winning.

A month after, Mikasa had disappeared from the Azumabito Estate. She retraced her steps and visited Liberio. There she found Mrs. Kirschtein knitting outside a bungalow. A few steps in, she was greeted warmly and invited inside for dinner.

“This was Jeanboy’s favorite.”

An omelette.

Somehow, it sounded fitting even with Jean’s crass tongue that showed in every argument he and Eren had. The mother was alone in the large house and it clawed at Mikasa’s throat. The woman talked about how Jean had bought the bungalow during the war and had the deed delivered to his mother. She talked about how glad she was to see Mikasa. It was when Mrs. Kirchstein asked why she was there, that Mikasa was at a loss for words.

But she wanted to fix things. She wanted to sow the loose ends.

“He protected me.”

With trembling lips, Mikasa bowed her head in shame, the hands on her lap tightly tugging at her coat. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect him.” There was silence for a while save from Mikasa ‘s sniffling. The chair shuffled and Mikasa’s eyes fluttered shut. But instead of the hard slap she had expected one again, Mrs. Kirchstein laid her hands on Mikasa’s shoulders, soft and warm.

“Have you been thinking that since back then?”

She nodded weakly.

“Mikasa, it was never your fault.”

Perhaps that was what Mikasa wanted to hear and confirm. Perhaps she was still selfish at heart. “Don’t live thinking it was your fault. Jean always told me how good you are and how you’ve always saved them before. I never blamed you.”

“Why didn’t you?”

In the space between the kitchen and the living room, there was a stack of boxes with old letters in them. Mrs. Kirchstein gestured to them gently, a wistful smile on her face. “In every envelope he sent me, he spoke good things about you. He kept you close to his heart and if I’m ever grateful for anything, it was that he died an honorable death.”

Mikasa learned that her heart had always been in pieces. Those pieces were given to different people and it will never return to her. But there were people who cared for the parts of her that she gave away.

In the bungalow, Mikasa had left a pair of gloves given to her as a gift back then.

Mikasa owed a lot of apologies. In the past six years, she had profusely apologized, but Annie was right. It wasn’t for the dead, but for her to live without the guilt. It was deliberately done and that is why Mikasa was unable to let go. She had to stop feeling sorry for herself.

“Ms. Mikasa?”

After her trip to Liberio, she had travelled to the outskirts, only to find a boy in his teens, with familiar golden eyes and grin. Mikasa stopped in her tracks, recognition dawning on her. In front of her stood a soldier in a sandy uniform. He kicked the dirt off his boots and stood straight, saluting as he did so. Behind him, he guarded a prison facility.

For a moment she smiled to herself, a former thief coming into mind. It took her a second before she came back, the boy watching her carefully, still saluting. She shook her head at him.

“Falco?” She hesitantly asked.

He had grown taller, fitter than a few years ago. “You’re as beautiful as ever, Ms. Mikasa.” He grinned again, pearly whites showing and it tug at the corner of Mikasa’s lips. “Thank you. You’ve grown charming.” His face flushed, lips quivering in an attempt to stop smiling.

“No, Ms. Mikasa. If anything, thank _you._ Your letter was able to reach out to Gabi. It took years, but she returned my feelings.”

Mikasa had received praises before for her skills and for being exceedingly good at everything. She was called a prodigy by even the high-ranking officials. But never had she received a genuine thank you from someone she helped a few years ago. It took her back.

“I came to look for you after she received me well, but someone told me you were out. I gave Miss Annie a letter for you.”

“Annie?” She was still there?

“Yes, but now that you’re here,” He paused, gently placing down the gun shouldered on his back and he opened his arms shyly. “May I celebrate with you?” Without a warning, he stepped forward and embraced her. He smelled like the ocean sea breeze, mixed with the scent of sand on the seashore. A warm feeling spread throughout Mikasa and her eyes stung.

If she was unable to cry before, now she was nothing but a crying mess.

_“I’m sure you have someone like that too.”_

_Yes._ Mikasa did have someone like that.

She thought of Armin back home, of oceanic scents and blue polos. She thought of Historia, who had claimed to be her friend and the first one Mikasa had in forever. She thought of unyielding eyes and bloodstained hoodies wrapping over someone small but strong. Cold but unbelievably in flames.

Mikasa always had someone like that.

She was just too fixated on one person to have noticed.

“Next time I drop by your office; I’ll bring Gabi to meet you.”

His grin was infectious; like a spirit transferring to people in a mile’s radius. Mikasa laughed. It surprised both of them when she did so and her heart started to beat rapidly inside her.

“Does…Does this mean Miss Mikasa had found someone?”

Falco was young. He symbolized hope and loyalty that made people around him at ease. But just like a bird, he was sharp and observant. Mikasa only gave him a playful smile before she headed her way, Falco insistent to meet whoever it was.

At that, Mikasa tilted her head.

“You already did.”

It took her four months to finish her visits. Four months to gather the courage before she took a horse carriage to the up-state of Marley. Four months before she met a fist to her face and was quickly thrown to the ground when she wandered inside the Azumabito Embassy. There were only a few people that could catch her off guard and this person was definitely one of them.

“Annie.”

“ _Mikasa.”_

In front of her stood the girl, with arms crossed. She wore the same black hoodie, with the Azumabito embedded in the upper, left chest. Its length would have just been above her knees, tucked neatly under blue pants. The hem was folded.

“I see you still like stealing my clothes.”

“I see you’re doing fine after disappearing without a trace.”

Mikasa raised her thumb to wipe off the blood that drizzled down her nose. She hummed, ignorant of how to calm the other woman down. They’ve always bickered and it frustrated Mikasa to no end, but Annie was well-aware how to dose off her flames.

“What are you doing here?”

Annie scoffed, eyes rolling. “I had a delivery. We’ve got a lot of requests for you and people think I made you leave so I had to take them on. You know you’re an asshole, right?”

“That, I am.” Mikasa agreed way too easily.

The answer made Annie’s eyebrows furrowed and she crouched to her level. Mikasa couldn’t tell if she was irritated or not. “Honestly? I didn’t think you would stay.” Mikasa sighed when Annie inched closer and the former was absolutely sure that Annie was about head butt her to oblivion. But she received a flick on the forehead.

“Then you’d find me in the streets, stealing bread.”

“Sounds a little bit better than stealing my clothes.”

“Your clothes? Nope. You’ve no more to call your own since everything you left behind has already been claimed.”

Mikasa’s eyebrow twitched and she frowned. “Please tell me you did not sell my things.”

Annie snorts, her nose wrinkling. She sat in a more comfortable position and if Mikasa was a bystander, she would think it strange to find two women sitting on the floor of an embassy. It felt like they were at a tea party.

“The great and mighty Mikasa Ackerman’s properties have been transferred to Leonhardt’s.”

Mikasa was never great at making excuses. She was great at denial and dishonesty, and she found herself chuckling which, to her delight, left a horrified expression on Annie’s face. She grabbed her by the hood and tugged at her. Annie leaned in reluctantly, a suspicious look on her face. Mikasa only smiled, an unrecognizable warmth creeping from her neck to her face. She closed her eyes and took a sharp breath, feeling her forehead lean against the other’s.

“Then can we at least make it both ours?”

Needless to say, the way Annie’s face contorted from surprise to terrified and settling at an unbelievably red flush made Mikasa laugh out loud.

It was approximately half a year once again, when Mikasa met her blonde fighter. It took her another day before she was sure she wanted to go through with it and there was no turning back when she stood in front of two soldiers that guarded a large mansion with _Yeager_ engraved on the gates.

“You’re not welcome here.”

Those were the first words Zeke Yeager hissed at her. He stood tall and intimidating, hands behind his back. His glare was ferocious but Mikasa stood her ground. She looked at him in the eyes, gaze just as disarming as it was when she was in the military.

“You’re wrong.”

_“What?”_

A young version of Eren flashed in her mind, smile so wide as he appeared from underneath the laundered blankets, emerald eyes looking at Carla so lovingly. It shifted and Mikasa found herself watching Eren sleeping peacefully under the tree, with dreams of a world he helped build.

_“You are very important to me.”_

“Eren’s sacrifice did not go to waste. He didn’t hate me.”

Zeke almost lost his composure as he slammed his hand against the marble support of his mansion. “No. What does a tool like you know?”

“What does a brother who never grew up with him know?” She shot back.

She leaned forward, leveling her stare with him. “I am no _slave._ I am no _tool._ I am who I am and unlike you, I was there for him. Unlike _you,_ I for sure knew he wouldn’t have wanted to be buried on Marleyan grounds. But you disagree.” Mikasa was about traditions and prudence, but she pointed at him rudely, “You will never understand. Between you and I, both killing hundreds of people in the name of patriotism, I am more human for fighting for what I know. For who my people are. I was for them, not against them. So was Eren.”

His face reddened in anger but Mikasa turned away in peace, marching back to the horse carriage where Annie waited just outside its door. Behind her, Zeke screamed curses as soldiers held him down.

She caught a glimpse of Annie raising her middle fingers before they entered the carriage. The ride home was silent, both girls leaning against each other, staring out the window. In her heart, Mikasa felt like she understood Eren. She understood why he left, why he hid himself and why he told her what he did.

_“You are free.”_

She was.

She finally was.

The next winter came and Mikasa had left her scarf wrapped on the tombstone that held Eren. She knelt on the ground, needlessly talking for what seemed like forever, until the moment she wrapped the scarf around it and letting it go.

_Let go._

When she left the graveyard, Mikasa may have imagined things. But she felt the presence of strong arms around her, taken away quickly as it came, by the snow that started to fall from the sky.

Spring came when Mikasa took the ship that sailed to Paradis. Beside her, Annie lazily bit in a donut sprinkled pink. She sighed so sweetly that Mikasa shook her head. Confectionaries made her feel sick. The blonde had claimed that she wanted to see where Mikasa grew up.

_“Marley be damned if you’re leaving again. Man up, Ackerman. I’m coming to make sure you don’t chicken out.”_

So there they were, standing in the threshold of ruined walls and the town Mikasa barely recognized. The buildings have changed, rising up to tower over her, but the streets stayed the same. They breezed past the cobble webbed path until there was nothing else to do but knock on an oak door. Above her, the initials, _Arlert, A._ was engraved in a gold plate.

Those two rapid knocks gave Mikasa another puzzle piece. Armin stood before her, teary-eyed and jaw clenched as if he was scolding himself and saying _I’m not going to cry._ Mikasa wasn’t sure who moved first, but they found themselves in a hug for dear life, breaths running out as the cries flew like a rushing river out of their mouths.

“ _Seven_ years, Mikasa.”

“I know.”

“I was worried-”

“I _know.”_

Armin’s arms around her waist tightened and Mikasa buried her face in his shoulder. She didn’t know how long they were standing there, but when they heard an awkward cough, Armin broke the hug to look over her shoulder. He raised his brows, sniffling as he did so. Gently, he led them in his house where he cleared up that he was living alone.

“I see that you aren’t.” Armin smiled at her and back at Annie who found the wooden table more interesting. They talked about the years that had passed, what they were doing and the people they’ve met.

At the end of the day, Mikasa bade him goodbye. She and Annie discussed about the inner walls and the places they want to visit. They discussed about sandy dunes and a crystal cave. They saw the photos of the abandoned, royal palace and the forest of giant trees.

“Welcome home, Mikasa.”

_“I’m coming home.”_

“I’m home, Armin.”

A year had passed before they returned back to Hizuru, where Kiyomi waited for them on the docks. She gave her a big scolding first, evilly eyeing Annie who shrugged it off. Mikasa had always had her firsts taken away from her. But for the past two years, she had accepted herself in more ways than on. When they returned to the estate, Mikasa had turned to her, an excitement bubbling in the pit of her stomach. She called out to her relative, hands fidgeting and chest tightening up. Her throat was itching to say something she never said before.

“What is it Mikasa?”

At first, Mikasa didn’t know that she had burnt marks all over her body, embedded in her skin, yet at the same time, unforeseen by the naked eye. At first, she thought she was alone, that she suffered the punishment of the weight of her sins without anyone else ever understanding the weight. At first, she tried her hand at self-redemption and thought that letting go of someone was wrong in every way.

If Mikasa was doing things wrong, she realized it.

And she finally understood what needed to be done.

“I’m happy.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it this far, I thank you! I haven't written in months and why not just when my classes were just around the corner. I hope you enjoyed this fic, I look forward to reading your thoughts and seeing your understanding of this.


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